


For the Cameras

by aliciutza, atetheredmind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Casual Sex, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake Dating, Mentions Of Infidelity, Minor Daario Naharis/Daenerys Targaryen, Minor Jon Snow/Margaery Tyrell, Past Jon Snow/Ygritte
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27459394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza, https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: Recently divorced and a regular fixture in the tabloids, actor and wannabe director Jon Snow is on a crash course with failed stardom if he doesn't turn his public image around, and fast. His new agent, Margaery Tyrell, has the perfect remedy: a showmance, to wash out the bad taste of rumored infidelity that's been dogging him since his marriage to Ygritte Wilde imploded.Daenerys Targaryen is an aspiring singer-songwriter and a darling of Instagram; otherwise, she's a virtual nobody in the industry. A PR relationship with one of the hottest actors of her generation could be just what she needs to get her foot in the door. So what if she can't stand Jon Snow? The arrangement will only be for six months, and then they can go their separate ways.But what happens when the romance isn't just for show, after all?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 240
Kudos: 437





	1. Last-Ditch Attempt

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the long promised fake dating!AU. Sorry it took forever. We're still working on an outline, but hopefully once we get this baby fully plotted out, the updates will come regularly enough (in between our other fics, oop). Alice is having too much fun with the graphics and edits for this fic so expect to see a lot of them (also thank you to Sabrina for letting her use her insta post and profile templates!).
> 
> Jon is a bit of a mess in this story. What can we say, we love a messy Jon. There is a little bit of Jon/Margaery here, as well as some Dany/Daario, though these relationships will not overlap with the Jon/Dany relationship. But we couldn't make things too easy for these two, right?
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the fic!

* * *

Lounging back on the couch, Jon watched as his agent adjusted her panties underneath her black pencil skirt. He couldn’t help but smirk. “Your skirt’s tucked into your underwear,” he told her.

Throwing him a glare over her shoulder, Margaery Tyrell tugged her skirt loose in the back and smoothed it down over her arse. “Have you seen my bra?” she asked as she spun around her office, her beautiful tits bare and bouncing. It was a good thing she’d closed the blinds on her windows after he’d walked in for their scheduled meeting, or her assistant would be getting an eyeful.

Despite enjoying the view, he closed his eyes as he leaned his head back. “I think you threw it somewhere behind your desk,” he said lazily. Their casual, no-strings romps always had a way of relaxing him—a fact he very much appreciated these days. Between his stalled career and the divorce, he was constantly on edge and, more often than not, pissed off at the world.

Which was largely why he’d hired Margaery to be his new agent. Known to be cunning and ruthless, she was the best in the business. His friend, Sam Tarly—a producer he’d met while working on “The First King,” the hit TV show where he’d gotten his start seven years ago—had recommended her to him after Jon had bitched about his current representation over a couple pints. Jon had seen Margaery work wonders on other celebrities in similarly dire straits, and he trusted her to rehab his image; the sex was just a nice bonus.

With a huff, Margaery strode toward her desk and bent over to snatch her bra off the floor, quickly sliding it on her arms. As she fastened it in the back, she turned back to him. “Get dressed. We have work to do.” Her voice had taken on that no-bullshit tone he often heard her using over the phone when she was fielding reporters’ questions about him.

He opened his eyes when his shirt hit him in the face. “I thought that’s what we were doing,” he grunted as he slipped it on over his head. Margaery had located her own blouse and was tucking it back into her skirt.

“No, that was just scratching an itch, love,” she said, wiggling her feet back into her high heels. (He’d asked her to leave them on while she rode him on the couch, but she’d only rolled her eyes in answer before hiking up her skirt to sit on his lap.) “I called you in because we actually have business to discuss. Namely, your love life.”

Groaning, Jon snatched his pants off the ground and stood up to shove his legs into them. He hadn’t bothered with underwear for this meeting, knowing they would just get in the way. “I didn’t hire you as my agent so you could set me up with somebody.”

Margaery laughed as she perched on the edge of her desk, tossing her glossy brunette curls over her shoulder. “Jon, that’s exactly why you hired me. You want to fix your image, don’t you?”

“My _professional_ image,” he corrected with a scowl. The high from his orgasm was rapidly evaporating. “I don’t know what that has to do with my bloody love life.”

“In your line of work, they go hand in hand,” she explained patiently as if talking to a child. “And after your very messy, very _public_ divorce, unfortunately, you’re persona non grata in the industry right now.”

 _Fucking Ygritte_ , he thought sourly. He’d met his now ex-wife on the same show that had launched both their careers—and while hers was flourishing, she’d helped run his into the ground. “People don’t hire me to star in their shows or movies because of who I fuck. They hire me because they know I’m good.”

She shrugged. “Sure. I’m not saying you’re not good at your job, Jon.” Tapping her grey-colored nails on the edge of her desk, she smirked at him. “I wouldn’t have taken you on as a client if I didn’t think you’d make me a lot of money. But if a studio thinks you’re likely to bring them controversy and bad press, they’re less likely to hire you.”

Jon flopped down in the chair in front of her desk, his legs sprawled as he slumped down. Margaery pushed off her desk and continued talking as she walked around her desk to sit. “But if they see you’re generating good press, they’ll be less skittish to bring you onto their project. And the best, and simplest, way to get you good press is to make it seem like not all women hate your guts right now.”

Affronted, he scoffed. “Women don’t _hate my guts_. Do you know how many fans I get every fucking day begging to suck my dick just for a tweet back? You’ve seen my bloody mentions.”

Margaery rolled her eyes. “Yes, every basic white male celebrity will always have a horde of loyal, horny teenyboppers ready to assure them of no wrongdoing ever,” she deadpanned. “Sorry, but that’s not very impressive. What the public and media need to see is that the average woman can stand being around you for longer than a month.”

At the dig, Jon’s jaw tightened. “Ygritte and I were together much longer than a _month_.”

“Yes, and then you two got married, you cheated on her, and she immediately filed for divorce,” Margaery explained matter-of-factly.

His face went hot. “It was a stupid, drunken mistake—and, for fuck’s sake, it happened _before_ we were married—”

She waved her hand to cut him off. “Darling, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. As your agent, I’d be on your side even if you murdered someone. I’m just telling you, the public doesn’t like cheaters. You’re the laughing stock of the tabloids. Talks on your last project fell through, and they replaced you with a relative nobody whose last acting gig was a TV show on a short-form streaming platform that just went belly up.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Seven hells. Why’d you even take the damn job then? You make me sound hopeless.”

Her mouth pulled to the side in a self-satisfied smirk. “Because I love a challenge. And I’m damn good at my job.” Her face softened. “I don’t think you’re hopeless, Jon. You just need some good press. A girlfriend can do that.”

“So, why can’t _you_ play that part?” he asked, annoyed, as he gestured between them. “I mean, this is working, isn’t it?” Truthfully, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d met a woman he’d gotten on so well with. She was fun and unflappable. She didn’t take his shit, but she didn’t give him any, either. It was simple, what they had. No expectations, no feelings; no one to disappoint, no one to hurt. Completely unlike his last relationship. Clearly, noncommittal sex was what he should have been doing from the beginning.

Margaery made a face. “Oh, honey, no. Every agent knows you don’t date your clients, _ever_. Besides, this is just a sex thing. I’m too busy for a relationship.”

“Fine. But I’m not dating _Arianne Martell_ ,” he huffed. “She’s too bloody famous. I’m done with actresses.” Ygritte was an actress, after all, and look how _that_ had turned out.

Margaery sighed. “Yes, I got your last email loud and clear. However, ruling out actresses doesn’t leave us much to work with.” She grabbed a folder from a stack of documents next to her laptop and slid it across the desk to him, flipping it open. “That said, I’ve taken the liberty of selecting a few more options for you. Some are actresses, some are musicians, but they’re relatively new and unknown. And, best of all, desperate for publicity.”

With a disgruntled sound, Jon sat forward in his chair to look at the contents of the folder. The headshot laying on top of the pile was that of a pretty woman with honey blonde hair. Right off the bat, he wasn’t impressed. In his line of work, he’d seen enough pretty blondes; King’s Landing was overrun with them. Indifferent, he flipped her headshot over to read her CV and snorted, glancing at his agent across the desk. “What is this, a job interview?”

Margaery didn’t blink. “Yes.”

Shaking his head, Jon continued reading her resume. _Val Rayder. Actor/singer/dancer. Age: 26. Hair color: Natural blonde. Eye color: Blue._ He skimmed her acting credits, which consisted mostly of theater and some bit parts on TV shows.

His mouth twisted in a displeased frown, and he set her headshot aside to look at the next equally pretty yet equally unremarkable candidate. _Jeyne Poole. Actor. Age: 22. Hair color: Brown. Eye color: Brown._ For someone so young, she had a more extensive resume, including a recurring role on a TV show he’d never seen. Indifferent, he put her in the pile with the other woman.

The next candidate was an immediate no. “Bloody hell, pass,” he snapped, flicking the headshot toward Margaery. Perplexed, she looked at it.

“What’s wrong with this one?”

He gaped at her. “ _Sansa Stark_? That’s my fucking _cousin_ , Marg.”

She frowned. “ _Really_? Now, how did I miss that?”

Jon shuddered. “Bad enough the media already thinks of me as a lecherous skirt chaser, now you want them to call me a cousin-fucker, too?”

She rolled her eyes. “Relax. I’ll take her off the list, obviously. Why isn’t she in your file, though?”

“I don’t really have anything to do with my family,” he said flatly. “My mother got knocked up by some loser when she was young. Her parents didn’t approve. Yada yada—tale as old as time. Of course, when I got my big break, all my family otherwise unknown to me came crawling out of the woodwork. Started hitting me up for money or wanting me to get them meetings with producers and directors.” He snorted. “That’s all they saw me as. A meal ticket.”

Margaery hummed thoughtfully. “You know, reconciling with them might not hurt…”

He shot her a look. “I’m doing this fake relationship for you. Don’t ask me for more.”

She held her hands up in surrender, and he turned back to the folder. Curiously, the last headshot wasn’t a true headshot at all but a print-out. The woman was gorgeous, with silver hair and violet eyes, and she had a sweet face totally at odds with her bedroom eyes and her lush, pouty mouth. In the photo, she stared at the camera dead-on, and she wore a skimpy black cutout bathing suit. Her legs were spread for the camera, her hand draped suggestively close to her Lycra-covered crotch.

His eyebrow arched slightly, and he stared at her picture a moment longer before flipping to the back where Margaery had scribbled some handwritten notes. _Daenerys Targaryen, 25. Singer, no rep?_

That was it. With a bemused look, he glanced at his agent. “What is this?”

“ _That_ is my last-ditch attempt in case you prove too much of a snob for the others,” she said, exasperated, grabbing her phone from the desk. “She’s not famous, not in the traditional sense, at least, _but_ she’s got two million followers on Instagram—”

Jon made a sound of disbelief. “Instagram? Fucking hell, Marg—”

“Just hear me out. She’s an aspiring musician, but as far as I can tell, she doesn’t have any representation. Apparently, she cut an album when she was 18, it flopped, and the label she was signed to dropped her. I first saw her on TikTok—someone had shared one of her videos. But she posts a lot of stuff on Instagram and YouTube, singing, playing guitar, that kind of stuff. She’s pretty good, actually. I tracked down a copy of her EP to listen to it, and truthfully, I think the only reason it didn’t sell was because the songs weren’t a good fit for her. The label obviously wanted her to be something she’s not, some sexed-up ingénue.” Not glancing up from her phone, Margaery pointed to the printout in his hand. “That’s the album cover.”

Jon looked down at it again, his eyebrows raised. “Am I supposed to see a problem with it?” he asked, and she rolled her eyes.

“Of course not. I know what your type is. Why do you think I chose that particular photo?”

“You know, I do appreciate other qualities in a woman,” he retorted absently.

“My point is, if you look at her Instagram now, you’ll see the difference. She’s...wholesome. Sweet. Completely uncontroversial, girl next door.” She gave him a pointed look. “Perfect for a man looking for redemption.”

Jon was still staring at the picture. Her eyes were mesmerizing. “Girl next door—in King’s Landing, maybe.” Despite what Margaery said, he wasn’t fooled; this woman looked like she’d eat him alive if given the chance.

“No one in the business knows who she is, which means she would be a non-threat to that massive ego of yours,” Margaery said, smiling slightly.

He growled in the back of his throat, finally looking at his agent. “It’s not about my ego. I just don’t—”

“You don’t want a repeat of your first failed marriage, I got it,” she said with a flap of her hand, turning her phone over to him. “Here, just look at her. I think you’ll see the potential I see.”

Grudgingly taking the phone from her outstretched hand, Jon glanced down at it. On the screen was Daenerys Targaryen’s Instagram profile. He took a second to read her bio: _Yes, I write my own songs, and yes, that is my natural hair color._ He chuffed to himself; sure—that was what they _all_ said.

He gave her posts a cursory scroll: Already, the vibe was different from the print-out. There were a lot of selfies, shots of her writing or playing the guitar or piano—much more modestly dressed, sadly—but there were also pictures of her hiking in the woods or lounging on the beach or hanging with friends. Unfortunately, there were also a lot of snaps of her cuddling a mean-looking black cat.

“Bloody great. She’s a cat person,” he said with a modicum of disdain. Ghost would not be pleased. That was, if he was even considering her, which he wasn’t, not seriously.

“Just watch one of her videos,” Margaery urged.

Jon scrolled through a few more rows of pictures—not because he was _that_ interested, really, but it was a little refreshing not to see such a polished profile with carefully curated photos, like his own account, which he’d handed over to Margaery the moment he’d hired her. His last agent, Tyrion Lannister, had been shit at social media, and Jon didn’t touch the bloody thing himself, not since being inundated with sexual propositions and aggressive come-ons the first week of creating it.

Before he got too deep into her profile, Jon clicked on a video at random. As it filled the screen and immediately began playing, he glanced at the caption:

_While recording one of my all-time-favorite covers, Drogon had to get in on the action…Anyone interested in signing him? #catownerproblems_

Daenerys was cross-legged in the frame, her silver hair in a simple braid. A set of studio headphones practically dwarfed her head, and a condenser mic was set up in front of her. The same black cat from her other photos—Drogon, he supposed—was sitting in her lap, trying to chew on the headphone wire. Music was already playing, a familiar riff bleeding through the tinny phone speaker. Daenerys pulled the wire out of the cat’s mouth and tapped the condenser mic to get his attention. He stood up on his hind legs, yellow eyes intently focused on the mic.

Then she began singing:

_“Now here you go again,  
You say you want your freedom  
Well, who am I to keep you down?   
t’s only right that you should play the way you feel it  
But listen carefully  
To the sound of your loneliness…”_

Jon pressed his lips together. Admittedly, she was good. Really good. Her voice was raw but soft, perfectly pitched and strangely haunting. Drogon’s tail twitched as she began the bridge:

_“Like a heartbeat drives you mad  
In the stillness of remembering what you had  
And what you lost  
And what you had  
And what you lost…”_

Just as she launched into the chorus, Drogon let out a sudden yowl, startling Jon. Unfazed, Daenerys kept singing the chorus, even as Drogon caterwauled along with her, almost like they were harmonizing. Bewildered, Jon blinked at the phone, then at Margaery. “What the hell?”

She smiled knowingly. “It’s cute, right?”

“It’s fucking hokey, is what it is,” he complained, but he turned his attention back to the phone. Unfortunately, the video cut off there. Jon scowled. “Where’s the rest of it?”

Margaery laughed. “There’s more videos like that. She also has a YouTube link in her bio if you want to hear more of her singing—just her.”

Jon backed out of the video and clicked on another. She wasn’t singing in this one but instead decorating cupcakes—very badly, at that. Another video, clearly recorded by someone else, showed her flawlessly rapping along to a raunchy rap song before bursting into laughter just before the video cut off. Finally, he found another video of her singing for real, strumming along on a guitar and softly singing a song he didn’t recognize.

“Well?”

Margaery’s impatient question jarred him out of his single-minded stupor, and he turned his attention back to her. “Well, what?”

Margery smiled. “Have you made your choice yet?”

Jon scowled and shut off her screen, tossing her phone across the desk. “Bloody hell, I don’t know.” He was stressed again. Somehow, though, he knew Margaery would _not_ be up for another roll on her couch. Instead, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his beat-up pack of cigarettes. Slipping out a cigarette, he said, “No offense, I’m sure you know what you’re doing, but a PR relationship just seems so fucking...cliché.”

Before he could light the cigarette, Margaery gave him a stern look. “If you’re going to smoke, do it by the window.”

With a low groan, Jon dragged himself out of his chair to the window, jerking it open. He lit the cigarette and took a drag before blowing it out the window, then he perched on the sill. Margaery’s office was situated overlooking Blackwater Bay; her agency, Tyrell Creative Management, was consistently ranked among the best talent agencies in the country. It was why they could afford the most lavish accommodations in the heart of King’s Landing.

“It’s always so bloody obvious when a celebrity couple is purely PR,” he grumbled, flicking the ashes out the window.

Walking out from behind her desk, Margaery joined him at the window. “That’s because half the relationships in King’s Landing _are_ PR,” she said, taking the cigarette from him. He didn’t protest as she took a drag then handed it back. “But it’s cliché for a reason. It works. Remember Bronn?”

Bronn Sellsword was a fellow actor and another one of Margaery’s clients who’d run into some legal troubles a few years back involving a lot of prostitutes and a whole lot of illegal drugs. At the time, his mugshot had been plastered all over the news and magazines. Jon remembered thinking he was a fucking moron for getting caught, and then he hadn’t thought much about him until a year later when he began his media comeback tour. He’d started dating a sweet, up-and-coming actress named Lollys Stokeworth. Based on the obscene number of pap walks they were photographed doing, Jon had figured it was a PR relationship, so he’d been slightly surprised when they announced their engagement after a year. Of course, a few months later, they quietly and amicably dissolved things with a boilerplate “We still love each other and wish each other the best” announcement. Bronn went on to win an Academy Award after that, all his past indiscretions forgiven and forgotten.

“I’m not going to have to propose, am I?” he asked, exhaling smoke after a long drag.

“No, it doesn’t have to last as long as all that. Six months, tops,” she assured him, making his eyes bulge. “It can be shorter or longer, depending on how well it’s working. But I think you’ll at least want it to last through award season. As for the details, we can negotiate them once you choose the lucky girl.”

Scowling to himself, Jon gazed out over the bay as he ruminated over her plan. The thought of carrying on a fake relationship for six months already sounded draining. Then again, so did carrying on a _real_ relationship. And considering how the last one had gone for him, maybe a fake relationship was all he was cut out for.

“You know, every minute you spend brooding is another minute wasted,” Margaery said, and he cut her an unamused look, bringing his cigarette to his lips for an angry puff. “Who do you want?”

“Frankly, they’re all pretty terrible choices,” he grunted. “But in the interest of time and getting on with it—I guess...let’s go with this Daenerys.”

Margaery raised her eyebrows. “Really? You don’t want to go with the buxom brunette? Or the gorgeous blonde?”

Truthfully, Jon had already forgotten their names. He waved his hand as if swatting away a fly. “If it’s as you said, Daenerys is pretty much a nobody outside of some Instagram randos. So, chances are she won’t be a diva like most women in this business.” He shrugged. “Might be a nice change of pace.”

Rolling her eyes, Margaery got up from the window and walked back to her desk. There, she picked up her phone to tap away at her screen. After a moment, she set her phone down. “There. First overture made. We’ll see what she says.”

He blanched. “What—did you just send her a message on Instagram?”

Margaery shrugged. “It’s the only way to get in touch with her. Like I said, she has no representation.”

“What did you say to her?” he demanded, flicking his cigarette out the window before stalking across the office.

“I told her who I was and that I had a deal she might be interested in.”

Jon folded his arms over his chest. Bloody hell, this was really happening, wasn’t it? “You didn’t drop my name, did you?”

His agent laughed. “Please. You think I’m some amateur? She won’t even know who you are until she signs an NDA.”

Relieved, he let out a breath. “Good.” The last thing he needed was some potential star-fucker screenshotting her DMs with his agent and putting him on blast to her two million followers: _Recent divorcée Jon Snow has to pay women to date him!_

Which, apparently, didn’t seem to be that far off from the truth.


	2. Strings Attached

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally get to meet Dany. And Dany finally gets to meet Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that Christmas and all other holidays are out of the way, we're finally back to this fic 😁🥂

* * *

Dany was still sulking. Contrary to the caption on the photo she’d just posted on Instagram, the anniversary of her first—and _only_ —album made her feel anything _but_ nostalgic. Even after all this time, all she felt was hopelessness and bitterness at the lost opportunities.

This year was no different from the ones before; after she made the anniversary post, she picked up her cat, Drogon, and a bottle of Dornish red and locked herself in her tiny home studio. She just needed a good cry. A moment or two to let herself wallow in what could have been, even if it meant obsessing over almost decade-old decisions and events. Of course, she knew that there was nothing she could have done to save her career. Being signed at seventeen was not all that it was cracked up to be. Perhaps things were different nowadays, but back then, she’d been too trusting and idealistic. Her family might have been well off even back then, but that didn’t mean she was immune to deceit and mind games.

Once she was all cried out, she put on her playlist of favourite rap songs and started singing along as she switched between the same five social media apps, scrolling endlessly through pictures posted by strangers on the internet.

Usually, Daario would have been there to take her mind off this cursed day; however, the past few months her boyfriend had been busy finishing the master recordings with his band—the Second Sons—for their first “real” album.

Dany was happy for him, really. She knew just how much Daario and his bandmates had worked to get their big break, and if their agent was to be believed, it seemed like they were finally heading that way. But here, in the comfort of her home studio, away from judgment, she could admit to herself that she was a little bit jealous. Everyone she knew seemed to have carved out their own place in this industry in one way or another. Yet here she was, seven years after what was supposed to have been _her_ big break but further from a career than she’d been at eighteen.

She was down to the last sips of her last glass of wine, debating with Drogon whether she should go downstairs for a second bottle (his answer was of course yes, since he wasn’t the one risking a headache the next day), when her phone chimed. She expected it to be the alert for the poll regarding the next acoustic cover from _Dragon Princess_ ; instead, it was a new DM request. It wasn’t unusual, since she received hundreds of those each day, mostly from innocent fans trying to get her attention, as well as the occasional dick pic and sugar daddy proposal. Dany shuddered, thinking back on those she’d been forced to see with her own two eyes.

The name of the person messaging her caused her to choke on her wine.

Drogon meowed in panic as she heaved and coughed, phone clutched to her chest. When the coughing stopped, Dany downed the rest of the glass. It surely had to be a joke—one of those fan accounts that seemed to have taken over Instagram lately (like when she thought Arianne Martell had DM-ed her last month, only to find out it was a fan posing as her official account).

But what if it was true? Her mouth went dry just thinking about it. She squinted at her phone just to make sure she’d read the name right the first time.

She gulped. _Margaery fucking Tyrell_ was DM-ing her. The best and most sought after agent in King’s Landing was messaging her on Instagram. _Her!_ —Daenerys Targaryen—failed musician of twenty-five.

Dany stifled a squeal. “I’m too scared to read it,” she whispered to her cat. Drogon headbutted her chin and climbed back into her lap. She felt like she might throw up. She had to do this. What was the worst that could happen? With a deep breath, she finally tapped on the DM to accept it. Dany had to read it at least five times for her brain to finally register any meaning of the words.

Margaery Tyrell had a _proposition_ for her. _Oh no_ , she was definitely hyperventilating now. This had to be some sort of joke— _right?_ But when she tapped on the username, it directly took her to Margaery’s verified profile, with the blue check mark and everything. She shrieked, jumping to her feet and knocking her poor cat to the floor.

“Sorry, baby!” She went to pet him, but Drogon dodged her, hissing, clearly offended by her crazy behaviour.

Phone in her hand, she started pacing the studio. “Think, Dany, think.” She knew she had to reply fairly quickly, now that Margaery’s message was marked as “Seen.” She also needed to carefully word her reply. She had to be polite and enthusiastic, but most of all she _couldn't_ sound desperate. Agents could smell tryhards and wannabe celebrities through DMs; she had to play this perfectly.

A small flame of hope flickered to life in her heart. Could this mean that Tyrell wanted to represent her? Why else would the woman DM her? She stopped dead in her tracks, remembering she had nothing special to offer these days—she was just one of the many Insta-famous people in King’s Landing. Sure, 2 million followers was a nice number, but nowhere near as impressive as other influencers. Dany snorted at the label. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of herself as an _influencer_. She just took pictures of what she loved and played music. Somehow, people seemed to like her enough to listen to her covers and follow her on different social media platforms.

 _Bollocks_ , she sighed. Why was it suddenly so hard to put herself out there? This was, after all, what she wanted, wasn’t it? She had to at least hear Margaery out, and from her message the only way to do so was to meet her in person.

Dany typed out and deleted many possible responses, only to type them out again; after a few minutes, she finally settled on a short and enthusiastic—but not _overly enthusiastic_ —reply. Heart in her throat, she hit send.

With that done, it was definitely time for more wine. She also needed emotional support before her brain spiraled any further out of control. Wondering if she should call her friend Irri now or wait for Margaery’s reply first, she barely made it into the kitchen before her phone chimed again.

Dany jumped at the noise, almost dropping her phone. She really needed to get used to seeing Margaery Tyrell’s name flash across her screen. With trembling hands, she opened the message. In an unexpected turn of events, Margaery seemed like the eager one: she wanted to meet her— _tomorrow_! Unable to resist, Dany immediately agreed on the suggested time and location.

Dany opened the second bottle of wine and started a simple dinner of spaghetti too nervous to even think about anything else but the short exchange. The anticipation was already killing her.

Maybe, just maybe, her luck was finally changing.

For the past year she’d been trying to sing more of her own songs on all her socials, instead of doing just covers of other bands and artists, even going so far as to sing some of her new—and obviously unreleased—songs. At first, it had been an impulsive decision, when after another particularly miserable week spent lamenting her failed career, she decided to go live on Instagram and sing one of her newer songs, afraid that otherwise it might never see the light of day. While it didn’t get as many views as her usual covers, it still got enough traction to make people curious and ask for more.

Emboldened, she’d started recording videos of what she called acoustic versions of _Dragon Princess_. What nobody knew—except Daario and a few other select people in her life—was that these versions were the way she’d originally written the songs. Lannister Music Entertainment—her old record label—had decided that she’d needed a more “pop” vibe (Dany cringed every time she remembered that particular meeting) so they’d hired a new producer and made him transform her songs so much that she barely recognised them as her own. They weren’t particularly bad, but they weren’t _hers_ anymore. Still, back then she’d been so eager to please, so excited to just be making an album, she’d been willing to go along with everything they’d wanted of her.

At least through social media, she could put them out in the world as she’d intended them. Not that she could make money off them—the legal team of vultures Lannister Music Entertainment employed ensured she’d never own the master recordings of her album. So here she was, barred from re-recording her songs and profiting off them. The cherry on top? She couldn’t talk about or make any type of negative comment about her former label. This was her living hell for at least another three years.

Thus started the annual tradition of getting drunk, cursing the entire Lannister family tree and her old agent, Petyr Baelish, and crying—because as much as she wanted to avoid it, she inevitably cried halfway through the second bottle of Dornish red—until she tired herself out while dreaming of taking revenge on the aforementioned evil family. The tradition might have prompted some weird recurring dreams, such as her sweet boy Drogon being a gigantic dragon, with her flying atop him straight to the Lannister skyscraper and burning it to a crisp. _If only!_ The first dream did earn Drogon extra treats the next morning, which meant extra snuggles for her, so she couldn't really feel bad that her subconscious would conjure such images.

Her phone chimed again—her heart still did a flip each time Margaery _fucking_ Tyrell messaged her. It seemed this woman did not waste any time; she already wanted Dany to sign an NDA before their meeting. _Already?_ Immediately, an alarm bell went off inside her head, but Dany made herself take a deep breath. That was probably normal, though she was still skeptical. The fact that she was already being asked to sign such a document had to mean it was something _big_. Warily, she read through the PDF, making sure it was just a standard, straight-forward NDA and that she wasn’t accidentally signing off her soul for the next decade— _been there, done that_.

Thankfully, the NDA only asked that she not discuss or mention to anyone the contents of their meeting before or after said meeting. Deciding it was reasonable, Dany signed it and sent it back to Margaery.

The pasta was almost done boiling when Daario sent her a message to apologise for having to miss dinner, yet again. It didn’t come as a surprise, with all the work the band was putting in lately. Still, Dany was disappointed. She was excited to tell Daario her news.

“It’s just us again, pretty boy,” she cooed at Drogon, who was perched on the window sill, staring intently at her. Her Instagram poll was also finally closed; as she could already tell from the comments on her album’s anniversary post, “Flames” was the winner.

Perhaps it was the high she was still riding from Margaery's DMs, even hours later, but that night there were no more tears to be shed. Instead, she stayed up late and did some takes of “Flames,” first on the guitar then on the piano. She’d have to edit them the next day and find a moment to post—perhaps after her meeting with Margaery Tyrell.

Sometime after 2 a.m., she finally went to bed.

* * *

Not much later, Dany was jolted awake by a kiss to her forehead. “Shh, it’s just me. Sorry again,” Daario whispered against her cheek.

“It’s alright,” she mumbled, reaching her arms up around his neck. He let himself be pulled down on top of her.

“Let me wash up first,” he chuckled.

“Okay,” Dany said without letting go. She vaguely heard him chuckling again.

She must have dozed off again. In her haze, she heard the shower turn on and the water run. Minutes later, she felt the bed dip with Daario’s weight, then she was being pulled against his chest. Dany settled in his arms, like she always did, and quickly fell back asleep.

* * *

The next morning, she remembered the messages from Margaery.

“The strangest thing happened last night,” Dany yelled from the shower, not entirely sure it wasn’t all just an alcohol-induced dream.

Daario popped his head into the bathroom, his ripped black jeans still undone and hanging precariously low on his hips, a black shirt halfway pulled over his head and one arm. “What’s that?”

She peeked around the glass panel to look at him. “I got a message from Tyrell Creative Management.”

“ _The_ Tyrell?” Daario stared at her, eyebrows disappearing up into his messy bed hair.

She turned off the water. “The one and only. I’m actually meeting them in a couple hours. I don’t want to get too excited…” Dany worried her lower lip as she wrapped herself in a fluffy towel.

“Babe, that’s amazing!” he pulled the shirt all the way down over his toned abs and started rummaging through the vanity for his cologne and deodorant. “Did they say what they wanted?”

“Not really. They actually already made me sign an NDA.”

He met her gaze in the reflection. “Wow.”

“I know it’s probably pretty standard with such a big company, but still…”

He turned away from the mirror and pulled her to his chest. “I think they wouldn’t bother if they didn’t already have something in mind for you. You’ve been steadily growing, and you’re quite popular with the _kids_ these days.” Dany rolled her eyes at the way he said that—she knew he quite enjoyed seeing all the attention she got online. “I’m sure you’re one viral video away from truly making it.” Dany looked up at him, as his thumbs gently stroked her jaw. “Look how it happened for the band.”

She smiled at the memory. “I know. I just don’t want my hopes crushed again.”

Daario fixed her with his determined gaze. “So you got fucked over once; now you know better. Plus, unlike the first time, you’re in a position from which you can actually negotiate now.”

“When did you get so optimistic?” She scrunched her nose at him.

“Don’t get used to it. I have my rockstar image to maintain now,” he said in jest as he rolled his eyes then kissed her.

Daario was still smirking as he pushed her up onto the vanity and made his way down her neck, pulling on her towel until it fell to the floor. In spite of her half-hearted protests about being late, he didn’t stop until he made her come with his name on her lips.

* * *

Two hours later, she was in the lobby of Tyrell Creative Management, admiring the gorgeous view their building provided overlooking Blackwater Bay as the late summer sun shone bright over King’s Landing.

After much debating with herself over her outfit—due to the NDA, she was too scared to call any of her friends and ask their opinion on what to wear—she finally settled on a bright mustard yellow ensemble of a high-waisted A-line skirt trimmed with white lace details and a strappy crop top, both made of silk. She completed the look with white high-heeled sandals and a small bag. She felt put-together but not in a way that would make her feel over—or under—dressed for such a meeting. Even though she still had no idea just what kind of meeting it was.

The assistant instructed her to wait in the lobby for his boss to call her inside. Dany kept fidgeting with her mother’s ring, twirling it around her index finger. She briefly regretted leaving her hair down, as the anticipation and stress of the meeting were making her skin feel too hot and the air too stuffy. It was too late to put her hair up without a mirror though, especially since she knew Margaery was the kind of woman who appreciated style; she was constantly photographed at the biggest fashion-related events in Westeros.

“She’s ready for you,” the young assistant finally called to her.

With one last deep breath, Dany crossed Margaery’s office threshold. _Here goes nothing_.

“Daenerys,” Margaery greeted as she got up from behind her large desk and crossed the minimalistically decorated room to meet her. She clasped Dany’s hands into hers and air-kissed each of her cheeks in a way that seemed very natural, even if it surprised her. “I’m so delighted you could make it on such short notice.” When she pulled back, Margaery offered her the most brilliant smile she’d ever seen. “I hope I haven’t completely butchered your name.”

 _Damn_ , she was either genuine or that good of a liar, Dany couldn’t quite tell.

“It was one of the closest pronunciations I’ve heard yet.” She smiled back. “Thank you for having me. I must admit, I was surprised you wanted to see me so soon.”

Margaery motioned for her to sit down on the couch; she poured two glasses of cucumber water from a pitcher. “I hope the NDA didn’t put you off too much. It’s nothing personal, I can assure you.” Margaery sat on the couch beside her, shifting to face her. She offered her one of the glasses of water, and Dany took it.

Dany smiled. “It’s fine. I was expecting to be asked to sign one today.”

“Right, so, we should probably get down to business since I’m sure you must be wondering why I’ve invited you here.”

She could feel her heart beat faster at her words— _There’s no easing into anything in this industry_.

“As I mentioned, I have a proposition for you. TCM represents quite a few big names in the industry. We pride ourselves on the quality of our services and on the fact that we think outside the box when,” she tilted her head, seemingly trying to choose the right words, “special _circumstances_ demand it. While we’re not pretending to have invented the wheel, we do try to tailor our solutions to our clients’ unique demands and needs.”

Dany blinked, not yet fooled by the faux modesty shtick that she was being fed. “Alright…” she prompted.

“I contacted you on behalf of one of our clients who is in a rather delicate situation. I think we can find a way to not only help him, but also help _you_.”

“Me?” Dany couldn’t stop herself from interrupting Margaery.

The brunette smirked, and Dany could swear her eyes twinkled. “Yes, _you_. I’ve been watching you for quite some time, Daenerys; I admit I’m quite impressed that you found a way to make a comeback in today’s market—to a certain extent—especially without any sort of guidance.”

Dany frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“I know of your background, and while the reasons for your disappearance after your album weren’t revealed, I can only assume it was due to some sort of disagreement with your label.” When Dany didn’t say anything, Margaery continued. “You’re certainly not the first nor the last singer to go through it, but I am impressed by how well you managed to cultivate a following, even without new music or representation—you are by yourself, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “I haven’t had a rep since I left Lannister Music Entertainment. Didn’t seem necessary. My Instagram is just—well, a hobby that sometimes gets me perks. Not like I can gain anything from my old music.”

“That is certainly something we can also help you with, Daenerys.”

“I just don’t understand.” Dany frowned. “It’s obvious I’m not TCM’s usual profile. Why would you even care about a failed musician who’s at best mildly famous on Instagram?”

Before Margaery could explain, the door burst open.

“And I said she’s waiting for me. For fuck’s sake, I _am_ her 10:30 appointment!” The guy who so rudely interrupted them closed the door in the assistant’s face and rested his hand against it, his back to them—in order to prevent the assistant from opening it, Dany assumed. “Marg, love, be so kind and tell your idiotic shadow that you are in fact expecting me, even at this ungodly hour—” He stopped as he finally turned and saw them on the couch.

She couldn’t quite place him, with his face hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses, but there was something about him that was very familiar. She definitely knew that voice.

Margaery sighed. The guy finally took his sunglasses off. Her jaw dropped.

 _No fucking way_.

There was no way in the seven hells that Jon _fucking_ Snow—fuckboy extraordinnaire and Westeros’ biggest heartthrob who’d recently fallen from grace—was standing in the same room as her.

“The _one_ time I want you to be your usual non-punctual self, you manage to somehow show up on time…” Margaery shook her head and looked at Dany apologetically. “Not how I wanted to do this, by the way.” She then _glared_ at Jon Snow.

To her surprise, the actor plopped down in the chair in front of them, even as he rolled his eyes. “Maybe if you’d shared your plans with me, I wouldn’t be interrupting you. Besides, I thought you said we would do this together.”

“I was hoping to have time to gingerly ease her into the idea of you, before you came in with all your—” Margaery waved her hand at him, as if it was obvious what she meant “—you know. The idea is _not_ to scare her off before she’s even considered it.”

Dany briefly wondered how long it would take them to finally remember she was in fact still in the room and was beyond confused by their exchange, not to mention the nature of the meeting itself.

“Anyway,” Margaery turned to her again, her usual perfect smile back in its place. “This is Jon Snow.” She then turned to him expectantly. “Jon—since you were so eager to meet her—this is Daenerys Targaryen.” Dany was getting deja vu from her childhood playdates. Was she expected to shake hands with him? Then what? _Play_ with him?

She flushed, her traitorous mind conjuring all sorts of ways she could play with him before she could push them away.

She didn’t miss the way his gaze slowly travelled over her body. _Right_ —what did she expect from the likes of him? Dany read the news; even if she didn’t, it would have been virtually impossible to avoid all the articles dragging him for his dickish behaviour: cheater, drunk and not at all the nice guy everyone once thought him to be.

“Obviously, Jon’s presence is not just happenstance. I asked you here today in hopes that you would agree to work with him on a... _project_.” The way Margaery said the word told her it wasn’t exactly an acting gig she had in mind.

“Oh?” Dany settled on making them spell out exactly what their intentions were.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Jon’s reputation is not exactly at its best at the moment.” At that, Jon scoffed across from them.

 _That was an understatement._ In fact, she’d venture to say that it had never been worse. From the corner of her eye, she could see his bouncing knee. She couldn’t imagine that Jon Snow of all people could ever be nervous about something, least of all about a meeting with her—a nobody. He always seemed so arrogant to her—not that she exactly hated the way he exuded confidence in the few interviews she’d watched.

After Dany nodded, Margaery continued. “In order to give the general public something other than his messy divorce to focus on, we think that the novelty of a new relationship would help him get out of the endless bashing by the media.”

“With whom?” she asked, though she was finally starting to understand just why she was here.

“With _you_ ,” Margaery replied like it was the most normal thing in the world.

At first the gravity of the word didn’t quite register. Once it did, Dany could feel the blood in her veins start to boil. Just when she thought that she’d already seen the worst in this wretched industry, _this_ happened. _Again_. What a fool she’d been to think that someone had finally seen her for her talent; that someone was finally willing to take a chance on her so she could do what she loved and knew best.

“If you think I’m just some whore you can just buy on behalf of _Mr._ Snow here—” She got up, ready to dramatically storm out of the room and forget the entire ordeal.

Margaery stood up, hands slightly raised in front of her. “Daenerys, please, it was not my intention to insult you.”

Dany glared at Jon. At least he had the decency not to look at her, but his jaw was set, and his leg was no longer bouncing.

“You mean you weren’t literally just proposing to pay me to fuck your client so he could scrub away the image he tarnished himself? I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” Dany snapped.

“I think I can fuck people without having to resort to paying them for it,” Jon spoke directly to her for the first time since he’d barged in.

“No one in this room is paying anyone to have sex with them.” Margaery sighed. “Please, if you’d sit down, I can explain.”

Undeterred, Dany remained on her feet. If she heard one more thing that sounded even vaguely insulting, she’d be immediately out the door.

“What I am suggesting is merely a PR relationship—quite standard in the industry.” When Dany didn’t budge, Margaery continued. “You won’t be monetarily compensated to spend time with Jon, and _no one_ would be paying you to have sexual relations with him. I’m not running a brothel here.”

Dany wasn’t convinced. _Maybe not a brothel, but an escort service._ Her anger flared up again. “Why would I even entertain such a ludicrous idea?”

“Because while being in a serious relationship would surely help Jon’s reputation, by simply being associated with him, you’d get people talking about you, too, bringing you into the public eye. This type of publicity would create enough buzz for you to grow your fanbase and possibly land another recording contract,” Margaery explained as she walked around her to sit down behind the desk.

Although she was loath to admit it, that gave Dany pause. “Why me?” she asked after a few beats.

“People like you. You have an established fanbase and a lot of potential. Plus, since you’re less famous than Jon, people would be more inclined to believe that what you two have is real.”

Dany scoffed. “In what world would I even go out with someone like him?”

Insulted, he made a face. “In what world _wouldn’t_ you? I’m a bloody catch, sweetheart.”

With a huff, she folded her arms over her chest. “Why do you need to date me when you’re clearly already in a relationship with your _massive ego_ ,” she shot back.

He smirked at her. “Darling, that’s not the only thing that’s massive.”

Her face went hot, and she clamped her mouth shut, turning her nose up. Gods, he was insufferable. Sure, he was attractive. There was something about his smugness, that curly jet black hair, those grey eyes, and—fuck, nevermind his plump lips, those chiseled abs he’d flashed on screen quite a few times, and that perfect arse. She wasn’t _blind_ ; that didn’t mean she wanted to jump into a relationship with him, even if it was a _pretend_ one.

It wasn’t his looks that were the problem. It was literally everything else about him.

“Are you two done?” Margaery asked. Jon shrugged, and Dany said nothing. She took that as a yes. “Look. Everyone loves a good love story. What is more romantic than the messy actor who finally saw the error of his ways and found true love in the arms of a beautiful, unproblematic girl who can bring him back on the right path?” Margaery smirked, and Jon rolled his eyes in a very exaggerated way.

For someone who wanted her to agree to a sham relationship, he didn’t seem too eager about the prospect himself.

Dany wasn’t stupid. Of course, PR relationships were something the entire world seemed to simultaneously know everything and nothing about. She’d spent enough years reading celebrity gossip to know that people theorising on who was using whom for publicity and which couples would last the longest was a time-honoured pastime. Hells, if bloody _Bronn Sellsword_ could get back into the public’s good graces with a PR-orchestrated relationship…

She just never imagined herself in such a situation, not after what happened the last time. Was she really that desperate? She suddenly remembered Daario’s words— _Daario!_

“I have a boyfriend,” she blurted out before she could talk herself into it. She’d almost forgotten the most important reason _why_ she couldn’t agree to this.

Jon crossed his ankle over his knee and snorted. “So dump him.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Well, you can’t very well have _two_ boyfriends, can you?” Jon deadpanned.

“You—”

Margaery interrupted her before she could curse him to the seven hells. “What Jon is saying is true—albeit poorly worded. Do people know about you two?”

“Well.” She fidgeted again with her ring. “He has been in some of my pictures on Instagram—nothing crazy. But we’ve been keeping it quiet, I guess. Unlike _other_ people, I love my privacy.” She turned to scowl at Jon, who merely rolled his eyes.

“Love, you’re not famous enough for anyone to give a shit about your privacy.”

Seriously, how was she supposed to pretend she was in love with this man when all she wanted to do was punch him in his annoyingly perfect face?

“Is he famous?” Margaery asked. She seemed to be the only one taking this seriously.

“He’s in a band—the Second Sons—they’re quite popular at the moment.” Dany couldn’t stop her smile.

Margaery had her phone out, tapping away. “Is he the lead singer—Daario something?”

“Daario Naharis,” Dany provided.

“Right, yes, that’s going to be an issue.” Margaery tapped her fingers on her desk. “At least, you’ve kept it quiet. I don’t remember your name coming up in any of the interviews I’ve read from them.”

Dany shook her head. “Wait a minute. I didn’t say I was on board with this plan.”

Margaery nodded once. “No, but this does complicate things. Perhaps the simplest solution _is_ to dump him.”

“Have you two lost your minds?” Dany spat. “You’re treating this like I am in a fake relationship with my _actual_ boyfriend! You do know that outside these walls relationships are based on love and trust, not on publicity?!” Seriously, was she the only sane person in this room?

“That was insensitive of me, sorry.” Margaery looked legitimately apologetic. “But you must try to see this from our point of view.”

Dany breathed deeply, trying to calm herself down. Perhaps Daario was right, and she could negotiate. She was no longer naive or willing to sell herself for any price. She sat back down on the couch and drank half of her glass of water. “Hypothetically, let’s say I agreed to this relationship. What would it require of me?”

Margaery smiled, obviously pleased with her change of tone. “First we’d have to get the public used to seeing you two together. There’s no established prior contact, and you don’t really have anything in common, so if you were to just announce your relationship out of the blue, no one would buy it. Many PR relationships fail before they even have a chance to start because of that.”

Dany saw the logic in it. She vaguely remembered seeing celebrity couples being photographed kissing even if there was no way in the seven hells they knew each other beforehand, and then never hearing of those relationships again.

“Then, once that’s out of the way, people will start talking. We will have to arrange a few pap walks to feed the rumour mill. The timing is actually perfect if we start soon, since we have two months until award season begins to get people used to you two together. Of course, you’ll have to attend some of these awards and afterparties with Jon.”

“For how long?” Dany asked. “How long would we have to keep this charade up?”

“About six months. The last event of the season is the Academy Awards. Once that’s over, we would wait a few weeks before we announce your amicable split in order to focus on your respective careers.”

Admittedly, six months didn’t seem _that_ long; not like she had to see Jon every day or even live with him. When added together, it would probably only be a few days _tops_. Could she pretend to like him enough? Dany glanced a look at him. She supposed he wasn't that annoying when he wasn't being a prick (which was every time he opened his mouth). Did she already mention that he was hot? Because it really couldn’t be overstated. After all, there was a reason he was one of the actors with the largest following of teenyboppers in Westeros—before he cheated on his wife as soon as they got married, that was. (Even then, his most loyal of fans insisted his wife clearly had done something to warrant it.)

“I know we’ve already established that you’re not paying me to have sex with him, but would I be expected to do so anyway?” Dany challenged, trying to project confidence. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering this. She was just testing the waters, she told herself.

“I am literally right here,” she heard Jon mumble from his seat. She avoided looking at him.

Margaery cocked her head to the side. “You are consenting adults. Should you want to engage in a sexual relationship, that’s none of my business.”

“Not in a million years,” Dany quickly replied. Jon Snow was planning on using her enough as it was. Attractive or not, Dany didn’t want to be one of his many conquests—even if the public would think otherwise. She had _some_ dignity she wished to maintain.

Jon snorted. “Like I said, I don’t need to pay people to fuck me. I can get it elsewhere.”

Her head whipped in his direction. “If you’re allowed to fuck other people, then I should be allowed to keep my boyfriend!”

“Absolutely fucking not.” Jon looked at Margaery for help. “Even I know that would be incredidbly idiotic, a disaster waiting to happen.”

To her disappointment, Margaery agreed. “If you agree to this relationship, I don’t really see a way of you keeping your relationship, Daenerys. I’m sorry.”

Dany finished her water. Well, it was decided then. She couldn’t just dump her boyfriend, and she was sure Jon would have no trouble finding someone else to help him with his failing career. Meanwhile, she should learn to make peace with giving up her dream for good. Perhaps it was time she took a step back from social media and focused on finding a more stable career.

“Though Daenerys has a point,” Margaery spoke again, halting her train of thought. “It would be pretty reckless to have you fucking around while you’re supposedly in a committed relationship,” she said, looking at Jon.

“You’re not actually serious about this,” Jon immediately protested.

“One of the reasons you’re in this mess in the first place is because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants. If it happens again, it will completely undermine the whole point of this arrangement. Might as well abandon the idea of rehabilitating your image now while we’re at it,” Margaery said in a challenging tone.

“Why not just put me in robes and stick me in the bloody sept?”

Dany silently watched the exchange. Clearly, this was a sore spot for Jon.

“Don’t be dramatic.” Maragery rolled his eyes. “We’re asking Daenerys to dump her boyfriend for you. Keeping it in your pants for six months is the least you could do.” She arched an eyebrow. “Imagine it’s a role you’re preparing for. In a way, it kind of is.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re saying absolutely no sex. Whatsoever. Not even with someone who knows about the whole arrangement and has a vested interest in being discreet?”

Margaery smiled. “None whatsoever. Sorry.”

Perhaps there was something Dany was missing, but the air in the office suddenly felt charged. An entire silent discussion seemed to be happening between Jon and his agent. Suddenly, he got up and dug a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of his black skinny jeans. Under Margaery’s unwavering gaze, he went to the window to light it, still staring at Margaery as he smoked. Dany had to stop herself from gagging. She couldn’t stand cigarettes. Her stomach lurched as she realised that if she agreed to this whole thing, she’d probably have to kiss him at one point. Definitely not with that mouth.

After a few very long and awkward moments of tension, Jon put out the half-smoked cigarette, threw the butt out the window and sighed. “Fine. No sex with other people.”

“Good.” Margaery turned to Dany then. “Anything else?”

Dany nervously chewed on her bottom lip. Oh gods, was she really considering this? Was she really going to sign her life away again—and for what, only the mere _possibility_ that pretend dating the most hated man in Westeros _might_ garner her some interest from record labels?

Margaery dug out a thin brown envelope from one of her drawers then made her way back to the couch, sitting next to her. “This is the standard contract. There’s space on page 7 to add in any other requests you might have. You can, of course, add in the monogamy clause. The other things we will discuss the next time before we draft the final version of it and you two sign it.”

Dany took the envelope reluctantly. Margaery sensed her apprehension. “Take some time to think about it. You don’t have to decide right this second. Get back to me in...let’s say a week.”

After a brief moment of deliberation, Dany nodded.

“Unfortunately, this won’t be a simple decision for you. I am sincerely sorry for putting you in a position where you feel that you must choose between your career and your love life. But, if it makes it any easier I think you have quite a lot to gain from this arrangement.” Margaery smiled at her.

Her words felt sincere enough. “Thank you,” she eventually said. She looked one last time at Jon, who just seemed annoyed. Well, that made two of them.

She was almost out on the door when Margaery stopped her, her expression serious. “Oh, and Daenerys—as stated, the NDA you signed yesterday will cover all that was discussed today. Even if you decide to decline our offer. Not a word to anyone. Not even your boyfriend.”

Dany hesitated before nodding. “Of course.”

“Hope to hear from you soon,” Margaery said more brightly.

Dany didn't stop until she reached the elevator. Once inside, she had to take several deep breaths to calm herself. She needed to get as far away from TCM and Jon Snow as possible.

There was no way in all of the seven hells she could agree to this arrangement.

Was there?

* * *

The following days passed in a blur. Her mood must have been enough to keep Daario from insisting too much about the meeting with TCM. It drove her insane that she couldn’t ask him—or anyone else—for advice. She wanted to scream; how could she allow to be silenced yet again? It was all too much. And the more she thought about it, the more it felt like an impossible choice between having a second chance at her dream or having a personal life. She’d refused to play the game once and had paid for it tenfold. Part of what kept her up at night was wondering if she’d come to resent Daario were she to refuse this offer. For all she knew, saying no meant forever kissing her music career goodbye.

By the third day following the meeting, Dany felt like she was going insane. Somewhere down the line, she started feeling guilty every time Daario looked at her with that question in his eyes he didn’t dare voice—”what happened?”

So she packed a small bag, took Drogon with her and told Daario she was planning to spend the weekend with her family, assuring him she would be back in a couple days (and hopefully with her mind made up). Then she drove straight to Duskendale, where she took the first ferry to Dragonstone. Once she reached her parents’ house, she muted all her socials and threw herself into spending time with her family.

For the most part, the distraction worked. At least until she went to bed, when she’d twist and turn, being unable to sleep, her brain refusing to turn itself off as she debated the pros and cons of agreeing to the arrangement.

Soon enough, her brothers (who were also visiting their parents for the weekend) started prodding her. Damn them for knowing her so well. But what could she tell them? It hit her then that if she were to sign the contract, she’d have to lie to her own family, too.

On Sunday morning, she had tentatively reached a decision. On the ferry ride back home, she dug out of her bag the small leather notebook she carried with her for her songwriting and scribbled a short to-do list on the last page:

Gods help her, it looked like she was actually going to go through with this after all.

The drive back home was short; she even made every green light. Dread settled in her stomach as she arrived at the front door. Drogon gave her an encouraging meow from the cat carrier backpack. With one last deep breath, she opened the door.

“You’re back early,” Daario immediately met her by the door.

Dany dodged his kiss, trying hard not to focus on the hurt that flashed on his face.

“We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cuts to black* 
> 
> See you next time! Thanks for reading!


End file.
